David hums as he cooks and every so often he turns round and winks at me. I get a huge pang of guilt about Rome. How could I do that to David? He’s so much nicer than Mike. I’m going to cancel. Definitely. Although if he was really serious about me, wouldn’t he have taken me to Rome himself? Suddenly my eyes, which have been staring into the middle distance, focus on David’s shirt. There’s a small rip on the shoulder, and it looks like he’s been cut.

“David, is that blood on your shoulder?”

I get up to inspect it more closely.

“Oh, that. Hmmm. Yes, yes it is.”

As I approach him he turns round to kiss me, deflecting my attempts to look more closely at the rip.

“David, let me see!”

“It’s nothing, darling. Look, I’ve just had a run-in with a couple of idiots. Should have been more careful.”

“What sort of idiots?” I persist. “Were you mugged?”

“Not exactly. Look, it’s nothing—just a risk that comes with the job,” David says, turning away.

“With the job? David, you’re an accountant, not a bouncer.”

“Of course I am. As I said, it’s really nothing.”

I’m cross now. I hate it when David avoids my questions.

“Tell me,” I say firmly and pull him away from the stove. David leans down and kisses my forehead.

“Darling, when you’re investigating fraud, you very occasionally encounter this sort of thing.

People who get involved in fraud can often be involved in a whole host of unsavory activities alongside it. And they generally don’t like the idea of being found out. So every once in a while I get some lunatic thinking that sending in the heavies, or sending me a bribe, is going to get me off their case. Which it doesn’t.”

He kisses me again and turns back to the spaghetti.

“So, what did you buy?”

I stare at David vacantly. Buy? What’s he talking about? And who dared to send the heavies round to David? Why hasn’t he mentioned it before?

“Today with Candy. Shopping,” continues David. “Don’t tell me you didn’t get anything?”

“Oh, right. Um, no I didn’t actually. We talked mostly. Didn’t get round to going in any shops.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

“What?”

“What?” David turns round.

“What you just said—’oh that’s right’—as if you knew or something. Have you seen Candy?”

David slugs back some wine and turns back again. “What? No, course not. I just remembered that you were going to have a catch-up. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“A couple of years actually.” If I didn’t know David better, I’d think he was hiding something from me. Something other than the fact that he’s regularly threatened by horrible criminals, that is. Shuddering at the thought of anyone trying to attack David I lean my forehead against his back.

“How about you?” I murmur. “What have you been up to today apart from getting into fights with gangsters?”

“Oh, just a bit of work,” says David absentmindedly.

“Again? David, this is ridiculous. You’re working all the time. Can’t you put your foot down?” I put my arms around him protectively. I can’t believe his firm. They expect him to work constantly and don’t even give him a bodyguard.

David smiles. “Darling, it’s me that’s making all the work. There are people in my team whose wives and husbands will be cursing my name right now. But when you’ve got an assignment, there’s nothing else for it.”

David always talks about people’s wives and husbands rather than girlfriends and boyfriends.

And about a year ago he said something about wanting a family. So naturally I thought it was only a matter of time before he proposed. Every time we went out for a meal, I prepared myself for him getting down on one knee and saying he wanted to be with me forever. Each time I bought a new dress or pair of shoes I’d wonder if I’d be wearing them when we got engaged. But he never asked. For a while I was a bit upset. I started thinking that David didn’t see me as wife material. Plus he never asked me to even move in with him. But I’m fine about it now. I mean, when you think about it, what’s so great about being married? Why should I want some stupid piece of paper that legally binds us? Why should I care if David doesn’t really want to commit to me? It’s fine the way things are. We’re very happy.

Although that should register on the SWOT analysis, shouldn’t it? If Mike is in love with me enough to want to marry me, that should count toward him, shouldn’t it? And if David isn’t serious enough about me to want to spend the rest of his life with me, then I should maybecontemplate going to Rome with Mike, shouldn’t I? I mean, a girl’s got to keep her options open, hasn’t she?

Feeling bad about thinking about going to Rome with Mike while David is cooking for me, I quickly try to focus on something else.

“So is it interesting, what you’re doing?”

“Interesting?” David puts a lid on the saucepan and sits down at the kitchen table, looking serious. “Yes. Enjoyable? No. Actually, right now it’s pretty bloody awful.”

I stare at him. It’s not like David to talk about his work like this.

“David, is everything all right?”

“Of course it is.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “But I’m afraid I’m going to be away next weekend. I’ve got to go to Geneva on Thursday and I’m probably not going to be back till Monday.”

“Next weekend?”

It’s as if fate wants me to go to Rome. As if I’mmeant to go.

“Yes. It’s a bugger, but I need to go. Are you going to be okay?”

“Of course I am,” I say brightly. “David, I am a grown-up, you know.”

“I know. I just enjoy our weekends together, that’s all. I like waking up with you on Sundays . . .” He’s kissing my hand.

“Uh huh, and what else do you like?”

David stands up and starts kissing my neck.

“I like going to bed with you on Saturdays.”

“I see. And what’s the day today? I can’t seem to remember . . .”

“Saturday.”

“Of course it is.”

David puts his arms around me and picks me up. Eliminating all thoughts of Rome from my head, I wrap my legs around him and he carries me to the bedroom.

“I also like taking your clothes off on Saturdays . . .”

“I see . . .”

“And I like . . .”

An hour later we manage to salvage some of the Bolognese sauce, but the spaghetti is completely burned and the pan is ruined. Evidently leaving the sauce to cook for an hour while you ravage your girlfriend is not the same as leaving it to simmer, stirring regularly. We opt for Bolognese on toast and eat it watching “Casualty.”

I hate watching “Casualty.” Whenever you see someone do anything, you know it’s going to end in tears. Like, crossing a road? They’re going to get hit by a car. Cooking something?

There’s going to be boiling oil everywhere and probably a lifelong handicap. It’s too gruesome.

I’m watching with my hands over my eyes as a small boy climbs onto a tall wall, and I know he’s going to have a horrible fall, when the phone rings. Without thinking, I tell David to pick it up.

I assume it must be a crank caller, because I hear David say “Who is this?” in a really shitty tone. I often get calls from people thinking my number is a Chinese take-away.

“Yes, I thought it was you,” he continues in a voice I hardly recognize. “Look, you know the situation. Don’t press your luck or you won’t enjoy the consequences.” And he hangs up.

His cheeks are red. I look up, bewildered. “Who the hell was that?”

“Your friend Mike,” says David in a very clipped voice.

“Mike?”

I need a second or two to gather my thoughts. My heart is racing. What if Mike said something about Rome? And how dare David tell Mike not to call me again, even if Mike is trying to seduce me. Unless he knows, that is? This is terrible. Guilt surges through my veins and I go on the offensive to make myself feel better.

“I’m sorry, did you just tell someone, a friend of mine, a friend of ours, actually, not to call me again? How dare you?”

My voice is quivering, but as expected my feelings of guilt are ebbing away as anger and indignation take their place. If we were on “Oprah,” I’m sure I’d have a lot of the audience on my side. It just isn’t on for David to talk to my friends like that.

“Georgie,” David says firmly, “Mike is bad news. I don’t want you to have anything to do with him.” This is so unlike him; he never tells me what to do. Except when he’s worried, like the time I walked into a busy road without looking. He was very cross with me then.

David isn’t looking at me either, which is odd. I suddenly remember the strange comment he made earlier when I told him about catching up with Candy. He must have seen her. She’s probably told him everything I said about Mike. Oh shit, shit, shit.

I reach for his hand in a conciliatory gesture. “David, me and Mike, you know, we go back a long way, but you know that there’s nothing between us now. Come on, don’t overreact. We’re just friends.”

“I’m perfectly aware how far you go back—I was there, remember,” David says bitterly. “And I would hardly call someone you’ve barely seen for two years a friend. Georgie, there are things about Mike that you don’t know and don’t want to know. Just do as I say and have nothing further to do with him.”

“Do as you say? Did you just say ‘do as I say’? Who the bloody hell do you think I am?” I am livid now. Even if David does suspect something, he can’t start ordering me around like a schoolgirl.

“I think you are a sensible, rational person. I think you should trust me.” David is talking very slowly.

“Yeah, well, I think you should start treating me with a bit of respect.”

“Respect? Is that what Mike showed you? Screwing around and spending your money? Would you prefer me to do that?”